My bare feet hit the cold floor, scattering fallen hairs across the wooden planks. I pad gently over to the bathroom, monsters under the bed stay there.
Maybe next time, we’ll join you. So I wash my face and brush my teeth and use the toilet and everything. I step out of the bathroom and sloppily make my bed, twisted and contorted sheets like the roiling storm inside of me. I revel in the mornings, ravaging imagination thriving within me. It is when I just leave the solace in the space behind my eyelids that I feel most alive.
The windows in the kitchen stare at me with the unrivaled brilliance of the morning. The wintry gray air outside caresses the dense emerald shrubs, the birch and maple a chorus in their quiet crisp world. I see whipped branches and flashes of red cardinals and snow and deep, deep green cutting into the gray-blue sky and I am alive. Ivy climbs the windowsills and snakes into my house and I am welcome. The morning, it shines like cool untouched air and I am renewed, as the world is renewed through me.
Perhaps the shadows underneath my bed and behind the closet doors haven’t come to appreciate the morning. It’s no matter; whatever creature that cannot appreciate literature and the stench of coffee grinds and ivy on cracked marble does not have much taste anyways.
I walk over to my goldfish, contentedly floating in-between fake plants. The efflorescence of plastic algae doesn’t seem to impress, and he remains stationary. Fish have no eyelids, yet he also seems to understand the quiet peace which dominates my being. Hello.
No, not today, I’m sorry, the world is much too cold and bright and whole for me today, perhaps tomorrow. What composes the anatomy of a goldfish’s mind? Such simple beings, yet the understanding of which we will never come to. Where do they come from, these incarnations of children’s dreams and lost copper pennies? I am not so eager to test his resilience to the outside world, but perhaps the notion of something greater within him than I have imagined will suffice for today’s imagination.
In fact, I am not willing to test much for the outside world at all. Monetary values and materialistic virtues have proven resilient to resistance, and are easily caught and furrowed within the crevices of my being. The speech of the outside world tests me, as well. Am I not a product of the outside? How come, then, I choose to remain in the confines of a world I’ve built myself yet does not truly exist?
Perhaps the shadows and the monsters also revel in the morning, but my thoughts and the omnipresence of such questions repel them. It would not, after all, be very much of a surprise. Such matters prove a bigger battle than the world that dominates the outside.
A morning revelation may have proven enough for me, and the goldfish.
We’d both prefer a silent understanding for today.